Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three (10 page)

Something had impelled her westward, from the time Jordhan extricated her from the jail in Thaliost, as if a silent voice had been calling her to this place. Her destiny, she felt increasingly sure, was bound to the barbarians that had ravaged this land, that were continuing their advance eastward,
toward the edge of the forest, toward the farms and villages of the Eldeen Reaches and Aundair beyond. Her dream in Rav Magar, at least, had seemed to suggest that a confrontation with the demonic chieftain of the barbarians was her fate—or perhaps Maelstrom’s, no matter what hand was wielding the blade.

She squeezed down the stairs to the little cabin where Jordhan slept and kneeled beside him. He stirred and moaned when she lifted his bandages, but he didn’t wake up. Bathed and bandaged, his wounds looked much better than they had the night before. With Olladra’s blessing, he’d be well enough to pilot the airship again by the next morning.

Rienne returned to the deck and gazed to the east, dread clutching at her heart. The sun hid behind a curtain of smoke, staining the sky red. More dragons flew in the midst of the smoke, igniting the sky with flashes of fire and lightning, clearing a path through the forest for the Blasphemer and his legions.

*  *  *  *  *

Two guards brought in the leader of the beast-men, clutching his arms and forcing his head down before pushing him to the ground, prostrate before the throne. Four more guards escorted two more beast-men, forced to their knees in the same way. Kathrik Mel clutched the skulls that capped the arms of his throne and smiled down at the three humiliated figures.

“You are in the presence of Kathrik Mel, chieftain of the Carrion Tribes,” one of the guards said.

“You may speak,” Kathrik Mel said.

The leader of the beast-men started to raise his head as if to set his eyes upon Kathrik Mel. A guard smashed it down to the ground.

“You may not lift your head, animal! Speak, if you can.” Kathrik Mel saw blood on the dirt from the beast-man’s head, and he ran his tongue over his lips.

“Great chieftain,” the beast-man said, his voice muffled—partly because he was speaking into the dirt and partly, Kathrik Mel suspected, because he had blood in his mouth. “I am Varish Blackmane, chief of the Blackmane tribe.”

“You are nothing and your tribe is nothing.”

“As you say, great chieftain. If you grant it, I will be your servant, and the Blackmane shifters will join your horde. We wish to fight the Aundairians under your banner.”

“I grant part of your request. Tell all the beast-men formerly known as
Blackmanes that they have no tribe. They serve only Kathrik Mel. They will add their pitiful strength to the might of the Carrion Tribes.”

“Part of my request, great chieftain?” The beast-man started to lift his head again.

This time, the guard did not need to intervene. A word from Kathrik Mel’s mouth seized the Blackmane, wrenching a gasp from his throat. The guards fell to their knees and covered their ears, and Haccra beside his throne covered her head and wailed a wordless scream. Kathrik Mel spoke, and Varish Blackmane tried to scream. Blood gurgled in his throat as he sprawled in the dirt, clawing at the ground.

“On his lips are words of blasphemy, the words of creation unspoken.” The dragon snaked around the throne and whispered, its words a hissing undercurrent to the booming cacophony of Kathrik Mel’s speech. “In his ears are the screams of his foes, bringing delight to his heart.”

Varish Blackmane ceased to exist. To Kathrik Mel’s regret, not even a drop of blood remained. But the screams—they seemed to echo in the black pavilion, to his delight.

*  *  *  *  *

When Gaven appeared before her on the deck, draped in a black traveling cloak, Rienne knew she was dreaming. He cocked his head to look at her, and she laughed.

“What are you doing here, love?” she said.

“I wanted to see what you’re like without me.”

“I’m lost without you, Gaven. Just lost.”

“You don’t seem lost,” Gaven said. “It seems like you found your purpose.”

“I found a purpose. I don’t know if it’s mine.”

“Whose purpose is it, then?”

Rienne buried her face in her hands. “Maelstrom’s, maybe. Maybe yours. It’s your fault I’m all tangled in the Prophecy.”

“None of us is tangled in it, Ree. It’s a path we walk. A labyrinth perhaps. But you’re above it, not caught in it.”

Gaven stepped, almost hopped closer to her, cocking his head strangely again, and she laughed at him again.

“You look like a bird when you do that,” she said.

He turned his head in surprise, then spread his cloak into big black wings and flapped into the air. She heard more wings behind her, and footsteps on the deck.

“Jordhan,” she murmured, then she realized she was awake.

“I’m no help against a dragon,” Jordhan said, “but at least I can chase off the vultures.” He tried to smile, but either his wounds or his pride turned it into a grimace of pain.

Rienne jumped to her feet and rushed to Jordhan’s side. “You shouldn’t be up,” she said. “Come back to your cabin and rest some more.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “You’re the one that needs rest. You’ve been worrying over me all day. Point me the way you want me to fly and we’ll get a few hours on our way while you sleep. With no vultures this time.”

“No, no. Your wounds—”

“Aren’t serious enough to keep me from flying. It’s really not strenuous work, as long as the elemental knows who’s in charge. So where are we going?” He grasped the helm, and Rienne could feel a surge of power through the ship. Jordhan was right—the elemental did the work of flying the vessel, and it was clearly ready to answer to his command.

“East,” she said. “We have some idea of the size of the invading force and what they’re capable of. So this time we circle around them, keeping clear of the dragons, and look for a place where the Reachers are mustering their defenses. That’s where we’ll take our stand.”

“East it is,” Jordhan said, and the airship began to rise.

Rienne put a hand on his shoulder. “Jordhan?”

He lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t look at her. His attention seemed wholly focused on the ship.

“Thank you,” she said.

He half smiled, met her eyes for an instant, and looked away. She went to the cabin and curled up in Jordhan’s bunk, hoping to dream more of Gaven.

A
unn wiped the surprise from his face and peered into the crystal. A woman’s face looked back at him, her sharp features and dark eyes conjuring the image of a raven in his mind. He knew her at once—Nara ir’Galanatyr, former head of the Royal Eyes. Why was she expecting contact from Kelas?

“I’m sorry,” Aunn said. How did Kelas address Nara?

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

Two questions meant the opportunity to answer only one. “I’m in Fairhaven,” he said.

“I saw the storm, Kelas. It was breathtaking. And I’m told that Varna lies in ruins. Was the queen pleased?”

So she knew about the Dragon Forge. That meant she was involved in the conspiracy—had Kelas been reporting to her all along? She’d been removed from her position at the end of the Last War, which could mean that Kelas had been plotting against the queen for three years or more.

“She was impressed,” Aunn said. “The device worked exactly as planned.”

“His storm flies wild,” Nara said, “unbound and pure in devastation.” She sounded reverent, almost breathless.

Was that the Prophecy? Aunn glanced at Gaven, who had leaned forward at Nara’s words. Gaven’s eyes were fixed on the globe, but his lips were forming words—finishing the verse Nara had begun, no doubt. Could he see her image in the glass? Could she see Gaven?

“What’s wrong?” Nara said. “Is someone else there?”

“No.” Aunn brought his eyes back to the glass. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking what?”

“About what comes next.”

“Indeed. The Time of the Dragon Below is upon us at last. All our planning is coming to its fruition.” She looked for a moment as though she
were gazing into the glorious future she imagined, then her eyes hardened. “Why are you in Fairhaven? It isn’t safe.”

If he hoped to learn anything more from Nara, he had to tell her as much of the truth as he dared. “There’s a problem,” he said.

“Go on.” Her voice was steel.

How much did she know already? When had Kelas spoken to her last? “The Dragon Forge is destroyed.”

“What?” she shrieked.

“As soon as the queen departed, we came under attack.”

“The dragon king? Or the excoriate?”

Aunn almost blamed the dragon king, because Malathar was already dead. But too many people knew the truth—if Nara got a report from anyone else who was there, she would know he’d deceived her. “The excoriate,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

“Damn it, Kelas! I told you to kill him quickly! I warned you not to let the Thuranni toy with him like that! Is he still alive? Is he free?”

He had paraded Gaven through the Cannith enclave that evening—Jorlanna would certainly know by morning that Gaven was in his custody. “I have him here with me. He’s in a stupor. As he destroyed the forge, he shattered the dragonshard that held his mark, and it seems to have shattered his mind.”

“He destroyed the dragonshard?” Her voice was a gasp, as if the news had been a physical blow to her gut.

“Yes.” Aunn felt confident in that lie—no one but Cart, Ashara, and the kalashtar could tell her otherwise. And he didn’t want her to come looking for the shard, or order him to bring it to her.

“His mark—it hasn’t returned to his skin, has it?”

Aunn glanced at Gaven, who was staring into the dragonshard again. The lines of the Mark of Storm still coiled within the rosy stone. Gaven’s skin was still red where his mark had been. It looked tender.

“No, there’s no sign of it.”

“Twelve moons,” she said. “So we have no Storm Dragon. But he has a few verses yet to fulfill.” Nara tapped a finger to her lips. “Damn it, Kelas. I’ve been planning this for a very long time. You know I don’t like surprises like this. We’ll survive the loss of the Dragon Forge—it has played its part in the Prophecy—but without the Storm Dragon, what happens to the Blasphemer?”

“The barbarians,” Aunn blurted. Kelas had been counting on the Dragon Forge to stop their advance through the Eldeen Reaches—or so he’d said.
“Without the forge—we have to find a way to stop them.”

“Stop them?” Nara chuckled. “And undo all of your dear changeling’s hard work? ‘The Blasphemer’s end lies in the void, in the maelstrom that pulls him down to darkness.’ You’re teasing me … Kelas.” Her eyes grew hard as she said his name.

Aunn swallowed. He had to convince her he’d been joking, allay whatever suspicion had just formed in her mind. “Of course I am. I neglected to tell you that my changeling also returned to the Dragon Forge with Gaven, panicked about the onrushing barbarians.” He saw Nara’s eyebrow rise and a smile play at one corner of her mouth—good signs. “He did not survive the attack.”

“Excellent,” Nara said, chuckling. “Still, it says a great deal that he survived as long as he did. He could have been a tremendous asset.”

“Where did I go wrong with him?”

“You were always too quick to punish him, Kelas. You made him hate you. He was always loyal, but to the crown, to his work, not to you. Did he try to kill you in the end?”

“He did.” Aunn was amazed—Nara’s words echoed many of his own thoughts of the last months.

“So you were forced to kill him. That must have been difficult for you.”

“No.” That was a slip—he’d answered from his own perspective, not Kelas’s. Was that the right answer?

Nara laughed. “Well, some of my lessons stuck at least. I must say, Kelas, I was growing worried that you were too attached to him, just as he clearly cared too much about you.”

What had Kelas thought about him? “He was extremely useful.”

“He was, and his last mission was his greatest. The Blasphemer rises.” Something shone in her eyes for an instant, then they turned back to steel. “So why did you flee to Fairhaven? Who’s in command at the forge, or what’s left of it? I assume the excoriate didn’t manage to kill every last soldier there.”

“I had to get the excoriate away from there before he did any more harm.”

“You said he’s in a stupor, and the forge is destroyed. What more harm did you fear?”

“I don’t know how long he’ll stay like this, and I want him locked up someplace where he can’t escape.”

“Why Fairhaven? It’s too dangerous. He could be seen and recognized, and without his mark …”

“Speed. Arcanist Wheldren used the circle portal at the forge to bring the queen back to the palace, so I could get here quickly.”

“How did you activate the portal?”

“With the assistance of a Cannith artificer.”

“So House Cannith knows you’re there.”

“Yes.” He had, after all, marched defiantly through House Cannith’s Fairhaven headquarters.

“With the excoriate?”

“Yes.” Aunn thought of the way that Harkin ir’Cannith’s eyes had lingered on Gaven.

“That’s less than ideal.” She scowled. “Still, I can see why you did what you did. Who’s in command at the forge?”

“No one. It was in chaos when I left. I know I should have—”

“Yes, you should have. But you didn’t, so that’s the situation we have to address now. We need those soldiers, however many are left, and we need them marching back to Fairhaven as soon as possible. Send Tolden—is she still alive?”

“I believe so.” Aunn hadn’t seen Janna Tolden at the forge.

“Send her and Wheldren to clean up the mess down there. You get Gaven locked away—he must not escape again. We need him in place when the time is right for the reunion. And then move ahead with the next stage of the plan. Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

What plan? “I think that’s everything,” he said.

“Good. You know better than to lie to me, Kelas. Nothing can hide from these eyes.”

He felt a surge of panic—was there something in her voice when she said his name? He was sure she’d seen through his disguise. But why not call him on it? He leashed his fear and nodded. “Of course. I won’t fail you.”